


The Unoriginally Titled: Johnlock Drabbles

by mydeardoctorwatson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Cuddling & Snuggling, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, cute fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5059612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeardoctorwatson/pseuds/mydeardoctorwatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnlock fluff/drabbles unlinked to eachother, just because Johnlock is adorable</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Work can wait

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is going to be a collection of Johnlock drabbles, might be connected might not be- not sure yet! Enjoy!

Early morning light was streaming through a gap in the curtains, a warm spot of sunlight centring itself on John’s right cheek. His facial muscles twitched, coming alive, his brain firing up as he surfaced to consciousness. Automatically he raised one of his hands to protect the side of his face currently being assaulted by sunlight, but found he was met with a resistance of some sort.

_‘What the hell?’_

John tentatively cracked his eyes open, shutting them almost immediately once again when met with the bright sunlight. Luckily after a few moments he was able to blink them open, and he could finally assess the scene.

His arm was, apparently, unable to reach his face, because a certain consulting detective was holding onto it with his large, bony hands. Well, John assumed it was Sherlock, as all he could see was the top of a mop of brown curls, thrown haphazardly all over the place, and the tip of a nose buried into his bare chest. Focussing more closely on what his own body was doing, he found that the arm not trapped by Sherlock was around Sherlock’s t-shirt covered back, and that his legs were trapped by Sherlock’s own, which were curled up to make up for their height difference.

John smiled to himself, remembering: _‘were in a relationship now’_.  It was strange to think that self-proclaimed sociopath, although John could see right through that facade, Sherlock Holmes would actually be interested in a relationship, and John felt extremely blessed that he had been chosen. Well, it had been a joint decision, obviously, one he was extremely glad they had both made. Together.

John sighed, nestling his face into Sherlock’s curls and placing a kiss into them. From below he heard a groan, and Sherlock shifted slightly in his arms, wriggling against John’s chest.

John chuckled, “Morning.”

Sherlock breathed in deeply, eyelashes fluttering and tickling the hairs on John’s chest. “Hmmph.”

John chuckled again, rubbing circles into Sherlock’s back through his thin t-shirt. “You comfy there?” he asked.

“Hmmm.” A sound of affirmation was all he got back, and so he tightened his hold on Sherlock.

John floated along on a cloud of happiness for a few moments before realising he should check the time as he had an actual job to go to, and could not afford to laze around all day, unlike _some_ people- as lovely as this was.  Moving as little as he could, John titled his head to the side, eyes catching the ray of sunlight again and causing him to wince, so that he could peer at the digital clock placed on the bedside table.

_7:33_

John really should be getting up now: making tea, having a shower, breakfast, forcing Sherlock to eat something...it was a pity he had to move, their cocoon of warmth was so comfortable.

“Sherlock,” he muttered, “I’ve got to get up, I have a job to get to.”

Sherlock groaned, his hold on John’s arm becoming tighter. “No.”

John sighed, hating himself for it but forcing himself to be practical. “Lounging around all day won’t pay the bills.”

Sherlock groaned once again, legs locking John’s more securely in place, before nestling his head further into John’s chest, giving John a glimpse of two closed eyes, eyelashes fanning out, soft and contrasting to the sharp lines of his cheekbones.   
“No. C’ll in sick.” He muttered.

John sighed, exasperated. “I can’t phone in sick when I’m not actually sick, Sherlock.”

“Yes you can.”

“No.”  ‘ _Dammit, John, be resolute, even if you don’t want to be!’_

A muffled groan and Sherlock once again snuggled further into John’s embrace. “Please.”

John scowled: Sherlock knew John could not resist if he said the P word. And dammit he couldn’t have even tried to if he wanted to. Being here, with Sherlock, snuggled to his chest, in the comfortable nest of their bed, was a much better deal than the cold and sanitary surgery.

“Well, I suppose one day wouldn’t be too...”

“Good.” Sherlock mumbled, yawning against John’s chest and causing a warm patch to rise up on his skin. “And then perhaps tomorrow too...”

John chuckled, holding Sherlock more securely in his arms. “Perhaps...”


	2. the post-case crash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's another chapter for you, unlinked to the first but established Johnlock nonetheless
> 
> Enjoy!

A cold breeze chased Sherlock and John through the front door of 221B and into the hallway, turning their noses red and raising goosebumps on their skin. John turned to Sherlock as they removed their coats and gloves, smiling fondly at the detective. They had just completed a case that had taken five days, five days in which Sherlock had not slept and had barely eaten, and now the detective was showing the negligence he had put his body through, with heavy bags under bloodshot eyes. Sherlock was also having a hard time removing his gloves, the task seeming to take him a lot of concentration.

“Here, let me.” John ordered, taking Sherlock’s hands into his own and swiftly removing his leather gloves. Sherlock nodded his thanks and took off up the stairs to their flat, not as fast as he usually would and grabbing onto the bannister. John sighed and followed his partner.                                                 

* * *

 

Upon entering the lounge John was greeted to the sight of Sherlock sprawled out on the sofa, belly down, and his head buried into the union jack cushion.

“Sherlock,” he chuckled, “you can’t sleep yet, you need to eat something first.”

“Not hungry.” Came the muffled replied.

“Yes you are.” John ordered. “Now, what d’you want? Chinese or curry?”

“Hmph,” Sherlock groaned, “curry.”

“Alright, curry it is.”

The curry was promptly ordered and John made tea for both of them while they waited. Placing both cups on the coffee table he then nudged Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Come on, get into your pyjamas, it’ll be much comfier.”

Once again Sherlock groaned, but he did allow John to drag him off the sofa and into their bedroom. John sniggered upon seeing that Sherlock’s hair was flattened on one side of his head and sticking straight up on the other side. He reached out a hand to smooth it back into place and Sherlock nuzzled into his palm, acting like a needy kitten.

“John…” Sherlock sighed, “I’m tired…”

John smiled sympathetically. He too was tired, but not as tired as Sherlock, who had gotten no rest at all, whereas John had at least got some.

“I know…” John brought his other hand up to caress Sherlock’s cheek, and the detective leaned forward, closing his eyes. “Just get your pyjamas on, we’ll have some food and then you can sleep, okay? How’s that?”

Sherlock sucked in a deep breath, blinking heavy-lidded eyes open. “Fine.”

Slowly and listlessly the two of them changed into their pyjamas, John helping Sherlock on with his t-shirt. The two of them also took this opportunity for a lazy kissing session, John pulling them both down onto the bed, lying side by side in each other’s arms. Their lips both still held a trace of coldness from the outside, Sherlock’s a little dry and cracked. John gently caressed Sherlock’s chest and stomach while they kissed, each movement languid and tender, his hand not travelling down any further. The time for passion would come later, possibly in the morning after a good night’s sleep. For now, they would enjoy the gentle caressing of their lips against each other’s.

Sherlock had just taken to nibbling John’s earlobe lightly when the doorbell went, and the two of them broke apart, Sherlock looking sulky under heavy-lidded eyes at having been interrupted. John, too, would have liked to continue, but he knew that at this moment getting some food into Sherlock was much more important.

“Come on,” he said, dragging Sherlock by the hand off the bed. “we’ll get back to this later, alright?”

Sherlock smirked mischievously, “We better.”

John chuckled, pulling him in for one more gentle kiss.                                                                                  

* * *

 

Ten minutes later and they were both settled on the couch, curry to hand and a rubbish television show put on just for background noise. John had laboriously filled his plate will every dish they had chosen from the menu, but Sherlock’s plate consisted a measly amount of rice and one piece of naan bread. John berated him for it.

“I’m too tired to eat, John!” Sherlock protested, shifting in his seat and causing rice to fall of his plate and into the sofa crease. Mrs Hudson would not be happy.

“Well eat as much as you can, then.” John replied, sighing.

Sherlock, in sarcastic manner, put one grain of rice into his mouth. “There!”

John sighed again. He wanted to be angry, he really did, but he had lived with Sherlock long enough to know that when he was tired everything was just that little bit more stressful and irritating. Normal, boring things irritated him at the best of times, but when he wanted to do nothing more than sleep, anything else just made his skin crawl with the tedium.

Deciding on the best course of action, John scooped some of his tikka masala onto his spoon and held it out to Sherlock. “You eat a spoonful, and then I’ll eat one, alright? Seem fair?”

Sherlock scowled, but in all honesty he was too tired to protest and so just opened his mouth and took what John gave him. The curry was full of flavour and enjoyable to eat, and eventually, between the two of them they finished off the tikka masala dish. By that time, both of them were too full to eat anything else.

John moved their plates onto the coffee table along with the excess food and they both settles back on the sofa, sinking into the worn cushions and focussing on the television programme whilst not focussing on it at all. It was just something to look at.

Slowly but determinedly Sherlock moved so he laying with this head down John’s chest and John’s arm around his body. John smirked at the detective’s actions: Sherlock always liked to do this after they had eaten and were relaxing on the sofa. He also knew that Sherlock liked it when he ran his fingers through his curls, and so, using his free arm, that’s what he did.

“You should take a couple of days off work,” John suggested, “this case was very hard on you, your body needs to recuperate.”

Sherlock sighed, nuzzling into John’s chest, “M’fine, John.”

John leaned down and placed a kiss on the Sherlock’s crown. “You might think you’re fine, Sherlock, but you can’t expect your body to always keep up with your mind. I worry about you, you know.”

Sherlock didn’t reply, and after a while John frowned, peering down. Just past Sherlock’s curls he could see the detective’s eyes were closed, eyelids drooping over his cheeks, and his breaths were coming in deeply and evenly. John chuckled, squeezing Sherlock’s arm before settling down into the sofa himself and closing his eyes, enjoying the surrounding warmth of his and Sherlock’s bodies combined, revelling in just holding his partner.

“I really do worry…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and please do leave a review!


	3. stargazing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock does something sweet for John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, sorry it's been two and something years....I'm so amazed by the reception these drabbles have received, so THANKYOU!  
> hope you enjoy this, it is the result of procrastination and my own irritation at the cold weather.

John all but fell against the front door as he closed it shut behind him. A cold draft of wind followed him in and sent one last shiver through his limbs. This blasted weather. John was anticipating spring with impatience. He was sick of the cold, and sick of people stomping into the surgery demanding his doctoral services for what they believed to be pneumonia, when in reality it was nothing a shop-bought medicine couldn’t solve.

Still, at least Sherlock had yet to catch any type of contagious winter cold. Then John _really_ wouldn’t hear the end of it.

He listened out for any sounds from upstairs as he ascended the seventeen stairs to their flat, knees creaking, reminding him he wasn’t getting any younger. John could not hear any loud or heavy movements, and was thankful at the end of a long, hard work day that their home wasn’t overtaken with yobbish thugs seeking revenge against Sherlock for some reason. Nor could he hear the sounds of any experiment going wrong, and when he swung open the door to the living room, he was rather surprised to find the room deserted. In fact, he couldn’t hear any sound at all throughout the whole flat. Strange.

“Sherlock?” He called out, stepping in and shutting the door. No reply came. Worry started stirring in John’s stomach. He stepped cautiously over to the desk by the window, lifted the lid on a chest hidden beneath heaps of case files and papers, and pulled out his gun. Checking it was loaded John began to edge his way around the flat, adopting a military style stance. The living room was clear, as was the kitchen, as was the bathroom. The door to his and Sherlock’s bedroom was wide-open, and as John, gun poised, stepped in, it was to find that, too, completely deserted. And extremely cold.

A gust of wind caught at the side of John’s face and lifted the collar of his coat. The curtains covering the window billowed like the masts of a ship, and John’s frown deepened as he found the window to be wide open.

“What the hell is going on?” he muttered.

He stepped forward towards the window, placing his free hand in the pocket with his phone in, ready to whip it out and alert Mycroft and Greg of any trouble at a moment’s notice. He shoved the curtains aside and angled himself to check that the fire escape outside of the window was clear, before he clambered out of the window and onto it himself, knees protesting.

John peered down into the small alley below, but nothing looked out of order; in fact, John jumped as Mrs Hudson emerged from the back door of her flat to chuck some peelings onto the small compost heap she kept, the small light above her door casting a warm light over the scene. Did those look like apple peelings? John hoped she had made an apple crumble, or perhaps an apple pie. His stomach rumbled. He had barely had time for lunch.

_‘Watson, concentrate!’_ he berated himself internally, and mentally shook himself as he began to ascend the metal stairs up to the roof. It was completely dark; John estimated it to be approximately seven in the evening, and the sun had set at four. It was hard going trying to guess where the next step would be, every time one creaked or groaned his heart would leap in his chest, and John compromised and let go of his phone to cling to the bannister. Eventually, he reached roof-level, and he peered cautiously over the edge before fully ascending.

What he saw was anticlimactic to say the least, but a massive relief.

Sherlock lay flat on his back, notepad in one hand and pen in the other, with a torch balanced on his chest casting light upon the paper. He appeared to be concentrating on the sky, and John shook his head in astonishment as he slipped his gun into the waistband of his jeans, flicking the safety on, the danger he had been anticipating non-existent.

“Sherlock?” He called out, climbing onto the roof, but Sherlock did not reply, and as John stepped closer he realised Sherlock had earphones stuck in his ears, and was listening to something on his phone; that would explain why he hadn’t greeted John, or indeed deduced his presence after John’s less than graceful climb up the stairs.

Sherlock seemed to be muttering to himself as his eyes flicked across the night sky, and every now and then he would scribble some words down upon his pad of paper. John himself glanced up at the sky, and found it to be dotted with stars; the effect would most likely have been more beautiful had the sky not been so polluted from the city lights, but it was stunning nonetheless. Why was Sherlock making notes on the night sky?

John, becoming more amused with every second, crept forward until he stood behind where Sherlock’s head lay, pillowed on a cushion borrowed from the sofa. He sighed and shook his head to see Sherlock wore only a thin t-shirt, pyjama bottoms, and his blue silken dressing gown. He was also barefoot. When would the idiot learn to cover up more in cold weather? He must be freezing!

Sherlock was still completely oblivious to his presence, and it was with much mirth that John leaned down over Sherlock so that he blocked the detective’s view of the sky.

“Hi, love.” He said with a smile.

Sherlock jumped so suddenly his entire body lifted from the ground, his long lanky legs kicking out on impulse. The torch rolled off of his chest and hit the roof with a _thunk!_

“John!” he said, wrenching the earphones from his ears as he let himself collapse against the ground. “What are you doing here?”

“Err, wondering what the hell the love of my life is doing on our roof in his _pyjamas?_ ” John replied, raising an eyebrow in amusement.

Sherlock blinked a few times, “I was err…. I was…. napping.”

John barked out a laugh. “Napping? On the roof? In one-degree winter weather? In just your pyjamas?”

Sherlock sighed. “Fine.” He said, clambering to his feet. “I was examining the stars.” He held out his notebook to John, who took it with interest. Inside there was diagrams and page upon page of notes, all relating to different constellations and planets and how one might spot them. “I must have lost track of time; I didn’t intend to be out here this long, but I wanted to impress you….” he trailed off.

John glanced up from the notebook, frowning. “Impress me? What?”  
Sherlock sighed, and gave John his most ‘you are an imbecile’ look, but the result was lost as a gust of sharp wind whipped up and the detective was wracked by shivers. “I have been attempting to learn more about stars, and constellations, and planets etcetera because you are fascinated by them. I wanted to surprise you. The notebook is to prove my hard work. Obviously.”

John felt a warm heat settle in his heart that obliterated all the irritation and exhaustion of the day.

“Sherlock, every single thing you do impresses me. Well, maybe not every single thing; coming out here in your pyjamas certainly doesn’t, you could catch your death!” He looked down at the notebook. He was overwhelmed by the effort Sherlock had gone to. “You didn’t have to do this for me!”

“But I wanted to!” Sherlock insisted, teeth chattering with the cold. “I even bought beginner, intermediate, and advanced guide audiobooks to astronomy!”

John nodded in understanding. “That’s what you were listening to.”

Sherlock nodded, and crossed his arms over his chest. Whether this was because of the cold or out of embarrassment John did not know, but the action was so endearing and Sherlock’s commitment of sitting outside on the roof in winter for _him_ made him capture the man’s lips in a kiss that stole the breath out of both of them.

“My god I love you.” He breathed into the space between their lips as they broke apart.

Sherlock’s cheeks flushed red, and his arms uncrossed as he tucked his hands under John’s open coat into the space just below his armpits. They were cold, and John couldn’t help the impulsive squirm of his torso against them.

“You’re freezing you complete idiot.” He said affectionately. “Let’s go inside. Have a bath.”

“Wait.” Sherlock said, voice low. “I want to show off my new knowledge.”

“Oh, go on then.” John said, smiling. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist and leant into his body as his partner looked up at the sky, one arm lifted, poised to point out a constellation.

“If you look over there….” Sherlock began, squinting. “No, wait…right above us here is….”

John giggled as Sherlock peered at the sky, head swivelling around like an owl.

“Stupid light pollution.” The detective muttered. His cheeks were blossoming red again. “I know what I’m looking for, but if humanity would persist with electric lighting!”

“How dare they!” John giggled.

Sherlock huffed, “…Can I see the notebook again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!  
> if any of you have any requests/prompts for a drabble, let me know, and maybe i'll get to it.... :)
> 
> also, if you want, check out my other account on here: Thebritishbourbon! (there's a lot more angst, and there's more to come!) I have no idea why i have two accounts.....


	4. Twist and Diffuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> another post-case crash fic, but completely different from the last :)

John was all but holding Sherlock up as they stumbled up the stairs to 221B together. The detective had lost all energy following his post-case crash, and this crash was significantly big, as the case had been a significantly large one, lasting _two weeks._ One lead had lead to another, and the killer had acted quickly and quietly, so much so they had been running around like headless chickens. Well, John had been running around like a headless chicken, Sherlock had been _brilliant,_ and the length of the case had been nothing to do with his abilities. He had been on top form. Now, though, he had hit rock bottom.

“Sherlock. Come on. One more step.” John muttered and they finally reached the landing.

“Hmmmph.” Sherlock groaned, eyes blinking owlishly.

John pushed the door open with his foot and dragged Sherlock into the living room and onto the sofa. Sherlock flopped onto the cushions with a high pitch whine he would never have conceded to make had he not been so tired.

“Come on you. Bed.” John ordered. John himself had not been present for the whole case: responsibilities at the clinic had called him, reluctantly, away, and therefore he had managed to sleep and eat when Sherlock had not. Plus, he was pretty sure Sherlock was making sure John did rest when he could, during quiet moments of the case.

“No. Shower first.”

John sighed. “Can’t it wait?”

Sherlock sleepily moved his head from side to side. “No. Shower. Then hair.”

John huffed. “Sherlock-”

“Hair. Please.” Sherlock said, and of course John couldn’t say no to _that._

“Alright, come on. But only because you worked so hard on this case, otherwise doctor John would have sent you straight to bed.”

Sherlock grinned mischievously up at John as the shorter man tugged on his arm until Sherlock was standing. “Git.” John mumbled affectionately.

“This is my reward.” Sherlock said as they moved towards the bathroom.

“Since when have you needed a reward for solving a case?” John asked, smirking.

“Since….since…” Sherlock didn’t finish his sentence, too tired to think of a clever response.

“Right.” John said sarcastically, and he kissed Sherlock’s temple as he placed his partner on the lid of the toilet. “Are you sure you can manage a shower?”

Sherlock nodded loosely. “……of course.”

John put his hands on his hips. “How about a bath instead?”

Sherlock only really liked baths if John joined him, and Sherlock raised a sleepy yet obviously suggestive eyebrow at the comment. John sighed. “I will join you _only_ if we spend all of tomorrow either in bed or on the sofa, eating takeaway and drinking tea.” This was not a real compromise, but John had to at least seem as if he was putting up a fight.

Sherlock smiled smugly, knowing he had won from the first, and his eyes lingered on John’s jean clad arse as his partner bent over to turn on the taps and begin filling up the bathtub. John turned, and smirked when he noticed where Sherlock had been looking.

“Come on you. Clothes off.” He said, stepping towards Sherlock and slipping off his coat and suit jacket.

“Hmmm. Yes please.” Sherlock said, and John tutted and shook his head, laughing on an exhale.

“If you don’t have the energy to shower, you don’t have the energy to do _that._ ” John said as he unbuttoned Sherlock’s shirt and slipped it from his shoulders.

Sherlock huffed, but didn’t argue further, which was definitive proof he was beyond exhausted.

Eventually, John had Sherlock fully undressed and into the full and foamy bath. He stripped down with efficiency and slipped in himself, sitting behind Sherlock and pulling the man back to lean against his chest.

They lay there for a while, simply enjoying each other’s company after two long, hectic weeks. Before long, however, John could feel Sherlock begin to nod off, his head sinking further into the crook of his neck, and he decided they should wash his hair before Sherlock was completely out.

Gently coaxing Sherlock forward John took a lot of care to massage in Sherlock’s exorbitantly expensive shampoo before rinsing it out using a jug, enjoying the feel of Sherlock locks between his fingers, now squeaky clean. Sherlock had leant into his touch like a needy kitten, practically ensuring John was giving a head massage as well. John purposefully left the conditioner out, both because Sherlock was really starting to fall into sleep, and John secretly _loved_ when Sherlock’s hair was slightly frizzy after it didn’t receive the attentive grooming Sherlock normally gave it.

“Come on you, out the bath.” He said gently as he stepped out himself, water dripping from his body and onto the floor. He grabbed a towel and held it out for Sherlock to wrap around himself. “Sherlock.”

Sherlock grumbled as he managed to clamber up and over the rim of the bath and into the towel’s embrace. John adjusted it around him as he grabbed one himself, and together they padded into the bedroom, still dripping water.

“You sit there while I get dressed quick, then we’ll sort your hair.” John ordered, and Sherlock smiled sleepily as he watch John towel off and slip into sweatpants and an old t-shirt. “You next.” John said, and Sherlock held out his arms, like a child, for John to dress him.

“You’re unbelievable.” John muttered, but conceded nonetheless. Sherlock stood only to allow John to slip on his underwear and some pyjama bottoms before he flounced back down onto the mattress.

John padded back into the bathroom, throwing their used towels over the radiator and grabbing a fresh one as he came back into the bedroom. Throwing the towel over Sherlock’s head, and consequently giggling as Sherlock jumped and made a startled noise, John grabbed the hair dryer rom where it resided on the floor by the mirror, and knelt down next to the bed, plugging the hair dryer into the spare socket and placing it on the bedside table.

“Right, lean against me then.” John said as he climbed into bed behind Sherlock, pulling the covers over the both of them. Sherlock leant into John, and the older man began to rub his hair with the towel.

Sherlock made noises not dissimilar to a cat purring as John worked at his hair with the towel, tugging gently at the locks as he removed most of the water. John had to tut Sherlock to stop the younger man from squirming against him in delight, but eventually John was finished with the towel and that was discarded to the floor. He picked up the hairdryer.

“Right.” He said, making sure the diffuser on the end was attached. “Twist and diffuse.”

Turning the machine on, John captured sections of Sherlock’s hair in his hand and twisted it, before bringing it to the dryer. The air was warm against his fingers, and Sherlock relaxed further under John’s ministrations as John worked his way through Sherlock’s hair with the dryer and diffuser. Sherlock loved it when John dried his hair for him, and it became strangely intimate as they relaxed in bed, even the loud gushing of the air from the dryer wasn’t enough to stop Sherlock’s eyes from slipping shut as John’s chapped but undeniably comforting fingers worked through his hair.

“If someone had told me, hmmm, ten years ago, that I’d be sat in bed with my partner, twisting and diffusing his hair for him, I’d have thought they’d had one too many.” John chuckled as he sectioned off another part of hair. He waited from some sort of reply from Sherlock, but there was none.

“Sherlock?” he peered down at Sherlock, and couldn’t stop himself from letting out a small snort as he saw that his partner had fallen asleep, in the middle of having his hair dried, and was snoring gently against John’s chest. Only Sherlock.

“But then, I don’t think I’d have it any other way.” He whispered, and went on gently tending to his partner’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! i just loved the idea of John diffusing Sherlock's hair for him.
> 
> If you have any suggestions or prompts, leave them down in the comments!


	5. Snow day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the recent snow we've had here in Britain.  
> turned out much longer than i anticipated!

John shifted in bed, coming awake increment by increment, feeling very cosy and warm in the nest of blankets and duvets. Beside him a nest of curls was buried into the sheets, and a pointy nose dug into the back of his neck. From the rate of Sherlock’s breathing, John could tell he was fast asleep.

John stretched a little, his body preparing for the wakeful day, and in the process one of his arms broke free of the sheets. He pulled it back immediately, wriggling it under the sheets. It was _freezing!_ John immediately felt the impulse to stay in bed all day. It was a Sunday; he could do that, yes?

 

That was when his bladder so rudely interrupted.

John grumbled, and wriggled himself free from the sheets, feet hitting the ground as a shiver went through him. Why was it so cold?

John padded into the bathroom, saw to that business, and then crept back into the bedroom. Sherlock was still dozing in the bed, some of his curls falling across his forehead and over his closed eyes. He was angelic.

 

John, giving up on going back to bed now the cold had woken him fully, padded over to the chest of drawers and slipped on some thick warm socks and one of his jumpers. He laid out some socks and a jumper for Sherlock too (John had bought him a couple for Christmas after the man kept stealing his), and padded out into the hall to switch on the heating. A fire was definitely in the books today, as well.

 

There was a strange starkness to the light coming in from behind the curtains, and John, after flicking on the kettle to make some tea, padded over to the large windows in the living room peered through some of the curtains.

Johns eyes went wide. Outside, it was as if the world had been covered in white marzipan which had then been smoothed to perfection. A thick layering of marzipan. John peered up at the sky; in the early morning it was still cloudy and told him more snow loomed. John hadn’t seen the weather forecast last night. This certainly was a surprise.

 

A childish glee came over John; he had always loved snow, and it had been a while since they’d had any. So, seeing it there, laid out all pristine...John was ecstatic.

 

He rushed back into his and Sherlock’s bedroom, and jumped onto the mattress, shaking Sherlock’s shoulder lightly.

“Sherlock! Sherlock! It’s snowed!”

“Wa’....” Sherlock mumbled, eyes cracking open ever so slightly and then slamming closed again. “Johnnnn” he groaned.

“Sherlock, come on! You need to see this, it’s extraordinary!” John persisted.

Sherlock rolled onto his front and peered up at John through one beady eye. A lock of hair fell down front of it. “John, snow is merely ice crystals that precipitate from the atmosphere in which they form. Snowflakes nucleate around particles in the atmosphere by attracting supercooled water droplets which freeze into different hexagonal shapes. It is a natural process, hardly extraordinary.” Sherlock closed his eye and snuggled back into the sheets.

John raised an eyebrow. “Well, you’re not wrong. But come on Sherlock! It’s exciting!” Sherlock did still not budge. John sighed, and he had a glint in his eye. “I’m making tea.”

Sherlock’s eye popped open. John knew that would do it. He climbed over Sherlock’s legs and grabbed the socks he’d left out. Flipping the bottom of the duvet up, not without a grumble from Sherlock about the temperature, John rolled the socks onto his partner's feet. John patted Sherlock’s shin. “Come out soon, yeah? I’ll brew the tea.”

He padded out of the room, sorted the tea and then went back to the windows and threw open the curtains.

The snow storm must have been particularly heavy for there to be absolutely _no_ traffic in sight- in the middle of London!  John crossed over to the television and switched it on, just as Sherlock wandered out of the bedroom, hair mussed. He grabbed both their mugs of tea from the counter and together they sat down on the sofa, Sherlock curled to John’s side as they watched the news reporter who had been forced to stand out in the snow inform them of bus and train cancellations, and that there was more snow yet to come.

“No one will commit any crimes in this weather!” Sherlock complained, sipping at his tea.

“That’s a shame,” John said jokingly, “We’ll just have to spend a pleasant day together.”

Sherlock made a displeased face, but John could see that really, he was more pleased than he let on.

“Come on.” John said, watching as flakes fell from the sky. “Finish your tea and get dressed. We’ve got to go outside in this.”

“Do we?” Sherlock asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Come on misery.” John teased. “We’ve got nothing better to do.”

Sherlock sighed and took a sip of tea, but he followed John into the bedroom and allowed his partner to instruct him to wear the warmest clothes he had.

With both of them bundled into jumpers, socks, winter coats, scarves, gloves, and John into a hat (Sherlock had refused vehemently), they traipsed down the stairs and into the quiet hallway of 221. Here, the heating was off, as Mrs Hudson was currently holidaying in the Bahamas.

“Do you reckon she knew it was coming before everyone else and so decided to go somewhere sunnier?” John joked, and Sherlock snorted.

As they stepped out into the snow, a strong wind bit at their faces and made Sherlock’ curls whip around his face.

“John, this is deplorable.” He said, shivering.

“Come, on, let’s head to Regent’s Park.” John said, not letting Sherlock’s sour mood put a dampener on his spirits, even if he had to admit that it _was_ bloody cold.

They trudged through the snow, passing children being dragged by their parents on their sledges, faces lit up with delight. They kept their hands clasped together, partly out of affection, but mostly to support each other in case they slipped, and Sherlock had to slow his pace to match John’s as they walked.

“Is this really worth it, John?” Sherlock complained as they reached the park’s entrance.

“Yes.” John said as he took in the view. The skeletal trees were now coated with white frosting, so they looked, in a way, inviting. The Boating Lake was now trapped in stillness by its icy covering, and ducks waddled, almost mournfully, along its edge.

John stepped forward, letting go of Sherlock’s hand to grab his phone and take a few photos. He had just framed his camera perfectly to capture trees, lake, and ducks, when something wet and cold hit the back of his neck, and he startled, capturing a blurry image.

“Wha-?” He turned, and saw Sherlock holding snowballs in both hands, a cheeky grin plastered on his face. He threw another at John, and this time the man had time to duck before it hit him square in the face.

“You bugger!” He said, bending to grab handfuls of snow himself, hastily moulding them into shape as another snowball hit his head. “Agh!”

He heard Sherlock laughing, and as he stood upright Sherlock was once again primed with his own snowballs. John aimed, and being an ex-solider his aim was very good, and threw his snowballs at Sherlock, who ducked out of the way. Damn Sherlock’s quick reactions!

More snowballs hit him again as John gathered more snow, but John was determined to hit Sherlock at least once! He prepared his weapons once more, and aimed with precision at Sherlock’s head. This time, he was victorious! “Ha!”

“John!” Sherlock said in surprise between gigging breaths. John hit him again, this time on the shoulder, and Sherlock fell to the ground, overcome with hysteric laughter.

John started walking towards Sherlock, thinking their fight over, but Sherlock still had a snowball in his hand, and managed to lob it at John from where he lay. It hit him square in the forehead.

“No!” John said, now laughing himself. He threw himself down on top of Sherlock so that he was laying on the man’s chest, and both giggled into the cold air.

“I win!” Sherlock said, and John could feel the heat of his breath on his cheek.

He looked down at Sherlock, indignant. “No you didn’t, cheater!”

“Yes I did.” Sherlock said indignantly, and John sighed.

“Oh, alright, you did.”

Sherlock smiled up at him, and John stared into those mischievous, clear-water blue eyes and realised that although there was frozen ice creeping down the back of his neck, he didn’t care. “God, I love you.”

Sherlock blinked. “I love you too, but I want you to know that that’s not the reason I threw snowballs at you; I threw them at you because you dragged me out here.”

John laughed, and his eyes scrunched up as he did. “No. I get it. I just love you.”

Sherlock frowned. “Oh, alright.”

John pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s lips, and Sherlock’s arms wound around John to press their bodies closer. When they broke away, a shiver rattled Sherlock’s teeth. “Can we go home now?”

John nodded. “Yeah, actually, that’s not a bad idea. I don’t want either of us getting pneumonia.”                                                                          

* * *

Later, after they had shared a delightfully warm shower together, John made tea while Sherlock….well, John was not sure what Sherlock was doing, but when he peered around the room divider the other man was inflating an inflatable mattress with a foot pump. He had cleared a large space on the floor in front of the now blazing fire by pushing back their chairs and the coffee table.   
“Sherlock…. what?”

“It’s too cold in our room.” Sherlock said. It was, in fact, toasty, as was the rest of the house with the heating on, and John might have thought Sherlock was being dramatic, but he knew better; Sherlock felt the cold more than most people, and as such ‘cosy’ to him was ‘rather chilly’. John felt a stab of guilt for dragging him out into the snow, but he knew that if Sherlock _really_ hadn’t wanted to go, John would have heard about it.

“Okay. So….” He gestured to the mattress, which was nearly completely inflated.

“So, I’m bringing the bed here. In front of the fire.” Sherlock said, as he screwed the cap on the mattress and pressed down to check it was suitably filled.

“Right.” John nodded, deciding to let Sherlock get on with it and sorting the tea for both of them.

Sherlock passed through the kitchen and into their bedroom, coming back with sheets, duvet, and pillows.

John rummaged through the cupboards, and eventually emerged with a packet of chocolate digestives. Shame they didn’t have any marshmallows, then they could make s’mores……hang on, they _did_ have marshmallows. Sherlock didn’t know John knew about that, though.

He was standing on one of the dining room chairs, pushed against the counter, attempting to peer over the top of the cabinets when Sherlock cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows. “If you’re looking for my sugar stash, its about a metre to your left.”

John gave him and apologetic look. “Sorry. I know I shouldn’t know about this, but…. well, you’re not as inconspicuous as you think when you creep away in the middle of the night to stuff KitKats in your face.”

Sherlock’s cheeks flamed red, and John felt a little guilty. “Love, I’m not judging you. In fact, you can stuff all this sugar in your face in front of me, if you like, as long as it is in moderation. I am a doctor.” John said, trying to joke.

“I don’t care that you know, just don’t let Mycroft know,” Sherlock held up a finger as he saw John begin to reply. “I know you’d never tell him straight, but he’ll figure it out next time he comes over. I couldn’t bare for him to use my insult for _him_ against _me._ ”

John chuckled, “You two are like children.” He opened the tin and sure enough there were marshmallows in there. “Ah ha. Put that back, will you?” He said, passing the tin to Sherlock. Sherlock did as instructed whilst John rummaged through their cutlery draw until he came away with two forks. “These’ll do.”

Grabbing the digestives, John followed Sherlock, carrying the tea, into the living room, but stopped at the sight of how cosy the room looked: the inflatable mattress looked exactly like their real bed, and Sherlock had switched off the main light and lit the room with the singular light that stood behind his chair, casting the room in a warm glow which contrasted pleasantly with the stark coldness coming from outside. The fire added to the cosy appeal, and John was suddenly aching to get under the warm covers.

Sherlock had placed their mugs on the floor by the mattress and had settled on the right side, adjacent to his chair. John settled on the other side but remained sitting as he stuck a marshmallow on each fork and held them over the fire.

“What’re you doing?” Sherlock commented, watching him.

“You never had a s’more before?” John asked, looking back at him. Sherlock shook his head. “Open the digestives please.”

Sherlock sat up and watched in bemusement as John placed a marshmallow in between two biscuits and squashed it down until melted marshmallow threatened to leak out. He passed it to Sherlock and repeated for himself.

They sat there and ate in silence, Sherlock’s face lighting up as he took his first bite, watching the fire crackle in the grate. After that, they settled down on the mattress, a cup of tea in hand, and John switched on the television. For the lack of anything better to watch, they switched to the news channel, amused to see the same presenter who had been out in the bitter cold that morning still stood outside. Sherlock snuggled into John’s side, and John could feel him yawn against his chest.

“Today was nice, John. Thank you for introducing me to s’mores.” He mumbled sleepily.

John chuckled. “You’re welcome, love.”

“I’m saving it to my mind palace.” Sherlock said, eyes fluttering shut.

John watched the television without paying attention to it, waiting until he felt Sherlock grow limp against him before he tugged the half empty mug out of his hand and placed it on the floor. He did the same with his own, and glanced over at the fire, making sure the guard was over it and there was no unanticipated fire hazard, before settling down further into their make-shift bed, keeping Sherlock tucked into his side.

He gazed outside at the snow for a while, watching flakes drift slowly downwards as he, too, began to drift, and drift, and drift, until, with a snoozing Sherlock by his side, John too fell into sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you enjoyed!  
> I have no idea if Sherlock's scientific description of snow is correct, sorry :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed, please review!!  
> Thanks for reading!


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